


The Walls We Build

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: Best Destinies [13]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Court Martial, F/M, M/M, Tomorrow is Yesterday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Troubled, Captain?”  His gaze met hers.</p>
<p>“We’re off duty, lieutenant, you can call me Jim.”  </p>
<p>“All right then, Jim.  Troubled?”</p>
<p>Chuckling, he moved a rook and took Uhura's bishop.  “That obvious?”  He looked up again and narrowed his eyes.  “You too, huh?”</p>
<p>The way she shrugged and looked away was answer enough.  “I’ll be fine.”  She looked back up, saw his bitter-tinged smile, and smiled bitterly too.</p>
<p>What a pair we make, Jim thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Walls We Build

As a trained psychologist, McCoy knew all about the defense mechanisms people used, the walls they built. He long recognized not only his own methods of self-delusion, but those of his fellow officers. They were meant for protection, to guard that which was vulnerable inside a person. But there was a rather huge difference between knowing about the concept, and addressing it in his personal life.

Doctor-wise, he could easily see through the walls his Captain built, the shutters drawn tight. He didn’t even need highfalutin, fancy language to describe it. Jim was wounded; by Tarsus, of course, and perhaps other traumas that happened in its wake which Leonard knew nothing about. One look at the man made it plain that he’d never had a chance to heal those wounds. The way he handled Kodos made it clear that after twenty years, Tarsus was still a mighty sore spot. Bones knew some wounds never fully faded, but there was a world of difference between an old scar that sometimes ached, and a still bleeding wound.

Instead of addressing his pains in any healthy manner, Jim took to throwing himself headlong into danger and romance, into violent away missions and quick dalliances with strange women, in what Leonard had named the James Bond coping method. In laying with strangers, Jim could recieve the physical comfort he needed without being vulnerable to somebody he’d have to face again the next day, or work with in the following months or years. The violence, the rush, Bones theorized, made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t since Tarsus. It was likely that Jim hadn’t quite felt at peace with himself since then, like a soldier returned home unsure of what to do without war.

Walls. Barriers. McCoy could see where Jim had built them, but damn if he could get through them. “I’m fine, Bones.” He’d insist. “Stop worrying.” Like that would console him any.

Spock was just as defensive and distant, though he walled himself off for very different reasons. Culture. Pride. The Vulcan way was stifling, limiting and abrasive on the soul, in Bones’ honest opinion. He knew all about being sensitive to different ways of life, of xeno-psychology and biology, but this was different. He was sure the stress of being caught between two worlds weighed hard on Spock in ways the man didn’t want anyone to see. He could hedge and obfuscate all he wanted, but at the end of the day, Spock was half human no matter how he denied it. He could never be totally Vulcan no matter how he tried, and trying would eventually drive him mad.

Trying so insistently to be Vulcan and only Vulcan, ashamed of half his lineage, led Spock to make choices and take actions Bones knew weren’t healthy. Part of that was the shell Spock lived in - a barrier which kept everyone out, save Jim; and even he could only reach so far.

Not to let himself off the hook; Bones knew he was the worst of the three of them. Oh, the other two might survive day by day by lying to themselves, but Bones was caught up in a greater facade. Lying to everyone save himself, hiding hi true nature behind bitterness and disgruntled humor. Jim thought the ex-wife was all that kept the doctor back, the reason for his rude, rough attitude? Bones couldn’t help but chuckle into his drink. The Captain had no idea. None of them did.

From his seat behind his desk, he glanced across his office, to the shelf upon the wall. It held his only personal possessions in the room: an old baseball, and a photograph of his younger self, standing with a beautiful blonde woman, a twelve year old girl, and an older man with a gentle smile. His family. What used to be his family.

None of the crew knew the monster masquerading as a doctor on their ship. If Bones had his way, they’d never know. If that meant he could never let them in, that he had to watch as Jim and Spock grew closer as an unwanted third wheel... he would. No other option was available to him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was strange, sitting in the rec room without Spock. The chess board was arranged before the Captain, untouched, but his typical challenger was nowhere to be found. The chair was empty.

Jim tried not to look at it, because it was a clear reminder of the distance which had insinuated itself between Spock and Jim. Bones too, for that matter. It was as if his heart had been split into two and each piece stolen from him, and he ached where it once had been. Jim clutched his drink tighter.

How could he fix this? How could they navigate this strange void between friends and lovers, and come out safely on the other side? He didn’t know. None of his lovers had ever been his friends. Few nowadays were anything more than strangers. Jim wasn’t sure he knew how; how to let himself go, to be openly amorous with someone who knew him, with the two men who were already so keenly aware of his faults, his failures. Would their loyalty and affection survive an even deeper understanding?

Frowning, Jim tried to steer his thoughts away from darker things, but it was hard. Life aboard the Enterprise was never easy, but it had been downright depressing recently. The image of a handsome young American pilot flashed in front of his eyes and he could barely hold back a wince.

Their trial in the past had been startling enough; Jim had never imagined he’d find himself above an Earth from hundreds of years ago. But what he’d never expected was the prejudice, the hatred, which had been present in the handsome pilot.

They’d talked; Jim had shown him the ship, found the man interesting enough, and it seemed as if he’d responded to his flirtations. But when he’d gone past flirting, towards insinuation... the other man had reacted with horror, disgust, even repulsion. Kirk had flirted with straight men and been denied before, but he’d never seen such blatant hate before.

It was hard not to be shaken by such a thing. Had humans really been so bigoted once? He knew his history, had read about human civilization before First Contact, before Starfleet. It was just hard to believe.

Of course, being court martial-ed, framed, and almost kicked out of Starfleet soon after hadn’t been great either. The fact that an old flame had been the prosecutor had been the icing on the cake. Yet another of his quick loves, his rough and tumble friends, someone he’d been so sure could be the answer to all his loneliness and pain - a love that had burned bright and fast and died too quick. It seemed all his loves turned out that way.

Jim was shaken out of his morbid thoughts by the sound of metal scraping as the chair in front of him was moved. “I hope you don’t mind, Captain.” His eyes lifted to view Uhura’s beauteous smile. “I thought you might enjoy a game?”

Jim glanced at the chess board and almost recoiled like he’d been bit. For a brief instant he was hit with a childish possessiveness: Chess was his and Spock’s game! But the moment passed and he smiled. “Of course, lieutenant.”

They started slow, and Jim quickly found it was almost relaxing without the need to combat Spock’s Vulcan skills. Not to say Uhura wasn’t good, but Spock was a level above them all when it came to games of logic, Jim included. There was something thrilling, invigorating, about the challenge of playing Spock. He almost always lost, but was so addicted to the rush of the game and their banter he kept coming back for more. 

“Troubled, Captain?” His gaze met hers.

“We’re off duty, lieutenant, you can call me Jim.” 

“All right then, Jim. Troubled?”

Chuckling, he moved a rook and took her bishop. “That obvious?” He looked up again and narrowed his eyes. “You too, huh?”

The way she shrugged and looked away was answer enough. “I’ll be fine.” She looked back up, saw his bitter-tinged smile, and smiled bitterly too.

What a pair we make, Jim thought. 

Their game continued in comfortable quiet for a while; it was a close match. But neither of them really seemed to be trying, or focusing very hard. It was more of a distraction than anything else.

After a time, Jim began to notice a strange habit of Uhura’s; her eyes kept darting past Jim’s right shoulder, staring incessantly, until it was her turn. He was half tempted to turn and look that way but he didn’t want to embarrass her.

The game kept on. She took his queen in a risky gambit - damn - but he was relatively sure the game would be his in the next five turns.

Uhura took a moment to stand and get a drink from the replicator as Jim took his turn. When she sat back down, she steepled her hands over the glance and gave a sudden sigh.

“Jim,” She began. “I am very tired.”

Jim glanced up; unsure of what to say, he allowed for silence, and the lieutenant continued. 

“I’ve done a lot to get here, a lot more than most. Earth might have come a long way but prejudice runs deep. I’ve had to work twice as much for half the gain compared to some of the senior officers in my department, men that I work with.” She took a sip of the drink, her free hand falling to the table. “The field I’m in might not be as driven by math and science as engineering or medicine, but it’s still technical, and humans have long believed women aren’t meant for that sort of thing. But I knew what I wanted and I went for it: studied hard; took the toughest courses; sought out ever opportunity for advancement I could.”

“I had to keep a tight leash on myself. No parties, little time for friends or family. If I wanted to be on the flagship I’d have to earn it. Most of all, that meant I couldn’t have a significant other in my life. It would be too complicated. A distraction, for one. Most of the men I knew were in Starfleet, for another, and any relationship with someone in my department might lead to questions. Did she earn her position or... you know.”

Jim nodded; he did know. That kind of horrid assumption was made of women most of all, but he’d felt its sting once, too. You don’t become known as the ‘Starfleet Slut’ without someone questioning whether you earned the captaincy through the merit of your mind or the spread of your thighs.

“So I abstained. Controlled my urges, my desires, locked them away. I suppose I thought that if I worked hard enough, I’d be able to let my hair down one day without having to worry about it.” A soft smile came over her, almost dreamy, as she glanced towards the view of space to her left. “But after four years of living like that... I couldn’t turn it off.”

“You’d become so used to keeping a reign on yourself, you couldn’t let go.” He smiled in recognition. He had trouble winding down: after a shift, on shore leave, he couldn’t just let go of the training, the command which was an integral part of him. 

“So now I’m here, working the same way, always in strict control of my work ethic, unable to ‘let my hair down’.” Suddenly her eyes darted above Jim’s shoulder again, as they had been for the past thirty minutes. “But I’m beginning to wonder: what’s the point? I’ve earned my place here, but I’m hardly enjoying it. I’m driving myself to the point I won’t be able to keep this up. I’ve got to bend before I break.” 

She swallowed the rest of her drink in one go, then stood. “Thanks, Captain.” She smiled as she stepped around the table. “I really needed that.”

Jim turned to watch her go - and saw her saunter up to another table, where Montgomery Scott sat nursing a scotch by himself.

His eyebrows went skyward. Watching intently as Uhura began speaking to Scotty, whose own expression morphed from bored to intrigued. She took a seat across from him, her torso passing in front of Kirk’s view of Scotty - when the man’s face was observable again, he was beaming.

Kirk watched for a minute more, stunned, before letting loose a short laugh and turning back to the game. His gaze danced over the board until, with another chuckle, he stood and walked away.

-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-

Spock had been attempting meditation for two point four seven hours and found no success.

It was... difficult to distance himself from the missions, more so recently. Their last few mission had been particularly trying upon his control. Almost losing the Captain due to the machinations of a hate-driven human had been enough to raise his ire, but the experience of time travel to Earth; watching Kirk with the human pilot... 

Behind his eyes he could perfectly remember the Captain’s debonair smile, warm, shining eyes and handsome laughter, all directed the airman’s way. How he’d flaunted himself, let touches linger as he walked with his fellow human. It had not worked, in fact, the captain perhaps not realizing the depth of social stigma against homosexuality at the time. The pilot’s response... had not been kind.

Suddenly Spock remembered Kirk’s expression when the pilot had recoiled, violently rebuking him and disavowing the future which allowed such ‘perversions’. How the Captain had been so surprised, distraught even, and for a few moments been unable to school himself back to his usual controlled, even demeanor. For a moment he’d been visibly upset. 

In Jim’s moment of emotional compromise, Spock had found himself affected more than he could say, and almost compromised himself. Even more than eight days after the event, he found it still tormenting his mind... much as another moment was still vividly present in his memories, despite weeks having passed.

The kiss he shared with Dr. McCoy... their argument in the med bay... the betrayed, hurt expression on the doctor’s face... these memories refused to leave him be, lingering in his mind during the day, fighting to the surface during meditation. It took all his strength of will to force them away. 

These memories made it hard to evade the thought of subjects Spock had long avoided: intimacy, sexuality, romantic overtures. Vulcans married according to tradition, mated as biology demanded, and did not have romantic overtures.

Only... Spock thought of his parents, Sarek of Vulcan and Amanda Grayson, whom he had long been out of contact with. He still vividly remembered them both, and sometimes shared correspondence with his mother. He found it difficult, despite what logic would demand, to believe their’s was a marriage of politics.

He could not see it. Growing up, he had long believed his father to be unsuited to his mother, to not be enough for her, and seeing her so lonely on Vulcan had convinced him of that truth. But he could not deny that his mother was an intelligent and independent woman and would hardly stay with a man who did not treat her well, whom she did not love. Sometimes he considered what his role might have been in that, if his existence had convinced her to stay, but he still could not convince themselves that neither of them had... feelings.

What did that say of him? A child of human and Vulcan heritage, born and raised on Vulcan, with little human involvement of any kind. Was it logical to expect him to one day marry T’Pring, his betrothed, to fulfill a duty to the family, the way a full Vulcan would? He could never have children. Their marriage would therefore be illogical, for if they did not marry to continue the family lines or unite them, there was no reason for the marriage.

He knew why his parents had initiated the bond... the threat of that time, which Spock very illogically hoped he would not be cursed with. Thinking of... that time, he became even more concerned about his feelings for his two human companions. Could they understand? Would they ever desire such a thing? Could they ever desire him, knowing what he might become, what might befall him?

It was too much. The very idea of being sexual... being naked and vulnerable in front of another, unable to keep the onslaught of physical and emotional effects at bay... and in addition to that, the fear of what his sexuality might mean, what it might unleash...? No. He would abstain. 

Vulcans did not feel desire, so neither would he.

The intercom rang. When Spock called out, “Enter,” his voice was low and rough from the thoughts still drifting through his mind.

The door opened, revealing Jim, who stepped in with a small, hesitant smile. He seemed oddly ill at ease, almost nervous, but still cheerful. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Spock stood promptly. “Not at all, Captain. Was there something you needed?”

Jim glanced away, and when he would not meet Spock’s eyes the Vulcan felt a dim sense of surprise flare up behind his shields. “I just thought... perhaps you’d like to play some chess? It’s been a while. But if you’re in the middle of something...” The Captain seemed oddly reticent. 

“No, Jim.” Spock insisted. “Allow me to change into my uniform and I shall accompany you to the recreation room.”

“Well, we could play here.” Surprise managed to show itself on Spock’s face this time, he was so taken aback, a single eyebrow flaring upward. Jim blushed. “I mean... if you’re comfortable with that?”

They had never played in either of each other’s quarters before. In fact, while they both visited each other in their quarters regularly, their meetings their rarely lasted longer than six or seven minutes. A series of chess games, the way Spock and Jim usually played, would take many hours. 

They had never spent so much time together, alone, in private, before. Jim had never asked.

The human was blushing even more, and seemed to be thinking of backing towards the door. Spock could not help jumping forward a bit, raising his hand, and the sudden movement startled Jim. “That would be satisfactory, Captain.” Spock forced his volatile emotions down: his shock, the thrill of pleasure that shook his core at the thought that Jim wanted to spend this time, alone, with him. “I shall return the room to its previous state, then we shall set up the game.”

Jim smiled broadly, and nodded. “I’ll help.”

Together, they began removing the fire pot, the meditation cushion and Vulcan incense, all of the tools Spock used to distance himself from his emotions. Once they were put away, they move the furniture back. Spock easily carried the table by himself, while Jim grabbed two chairs. Then, he grabbed a third and placed it at the table as well. Spock noticed, and sent a questioning look his Captain’s way. The man looked confused, before he glanced down, and gave a quiet, “Oh.”

“Captain?”

“I’m... just so used to it being three of us.” He gave a nervous chuckle, fingers tightening on the back of the chair. Seeing that he meant to move it, Spock reached out - and his hand covered Jim’s.

The human’s head shot up, eyes wide, and Spock felt the hand beneath his go very still. There was tense quiet between them.

Finally, Spock forced himself to speak. “Shall we, Jim?” He nodded to the board.

Jim seemed to have forgotten the chess set even existed. “Right. Of course.” He sat, his hand still right beneath Spock’s... Spock sat too, and with all the Vulcan reserve in himself, forced his hand away. Jim’s fell to his lap soon after.

They played the game, shared their usual dialogue, and beneath the small table their long legs bumped each other, almost intertwined. But while both were keenly aware of the other’s presence, almost enraptured by their closeness to each other... neither of them ever went long without glancing at that empty chair.


End file.
